


I have loved the stars too fondly

by oopsabird



Category: Hamlet (2009), Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Depression, Epilogue, Gen, Ghosts, Grieving, Hypothermia, Implied Character Death, M/M, or is it???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>...to be fearful of the night.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Horatio has kept his promise, and now it's time to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I have loved the stars too fondly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elri/gifts).



> I can hear Robin rolling her eyes semi-fondly at my title choice from all the way across the border, but what can I say, I just love that poem and it fits okay? (Title is from The Old Astronomer by Sarah Williams, though that line is often mistakenly attributed to Gallileo)
> 
> Anyhow, I was randomly struck by the muse on the bus home today, and the result was this. Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: If you wanna make the sads even sadder put on "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab For Cutie while you read this because it's perfect okay bye

     The day a small package shows up at the boarding house addressed to his pen name of "Yorick", Horatio knows his time has finally come. He takes the freshly minted book to his room, where he unwraps it and runs his hands over the simple cover. He pages through it, checking briefly for print errors. Finding none, he closes the book and crosses the tiny room to his writing desk. He intends to leave a note for the landlord, asking that nobody goes looking for him, but upon opening the desk drawer he stops short. At the top of the pile within lies the well-thumbed manuscript of _the play_ , the one that _he_ wrote, back when they were young and hopeful students - what feels like a lifetime ago.

     Horatio forgot that he had stashed it away there, after his last reading of it had reduced him to such a mess he could barely carry on his own writing. Now it stops him in his tracks, emotions welling up again; and with them the suggestion, as always, of what might have been. It is too much - he feels dizzy and stifled, room spinning around him. Breaking the reverie, he dashes to the little window, wrenching it open to heave in deep breaths of fresh air and relish the clarity brought by the sharp winter chill. As he gazes out at the fading light of sunset, Horatio feels his resolve returning. He knows where he needs to be, and with the book now finished, he is finally free to go.

     Downstairs, a distant bell rings to notify the tenants that dinner is served. Sensing his chance to slip out in the rush, Horatio turns swiftly from the window without closing it. Pausing only to pick up his book from his bed and blow out the candle, he walks out the door and shuts it behind him without turning around. He follows the chattering dinner crowd downstairs, then slips out the back door unnoticed. His shoes crunch through the snow as he turns towards the forest and begins to walk, path illuminated by the rising full moon. Nobody sees him go. He does not look back.

~

     Horatio does not know how long he has been walking. The moon has risen higher, and the stars have come out, twinkling overhead in the clear sky. He has left the woods behind and marches on now across an open field of undisturbed snow, book clutched to his chest and breath forming clouds before his face. His is the only movement in a panorama of icy stillness, as though the chill of deep winter truly has frozen the landscape solid. Having left his coat at the boarding house, Horatio finds that though he can feel the cold through his shirt and sweater, it doesn't bother him much, nor does the upwards slope of the field cause him to tire. He considers briefly that perhaps he's been feeling cold and bone-tired for a very long time already, and walks on at the same steady pace.

     He knows his destination - a place where nobody will find him, or bother him, where he can get some peace. As he reaches the crest of the hill, something appears along the far horizon ahead of him, glittering darkly - further steps forward bring him to the top of a sheer cliff overlooking the shining black expanse of the sea. He stops walking for the first time in what feels like ages a few feet from the edge, and gazes out over the ocean, the book still held against his heaving chest. Slowly he lifts his eyes to the inky sky, and to the multitude of stars. He could swear he has never seen so many as he does tonight, and further loses track of time in silent contemplation of their beauty.

     To his left, a human shape appears a few feet away, standing just in the corner of his vision. Though the figure is not facing him and only barely within sight, Horatio feels recognition tug instantly; he does not, however, turn his head to look. There is the sound of rustling fabric, as the figure shuffles his feet and puts hands into deep pockets, black coat standing out sharply from the white vista, even as he remains tucked in the corner of Horatio's periphery. He casts no shadow on the snow at Horatio's feet, where his own stretches out towards the cliff edge.

     "It is _very_ cold." huffs the figure, in a voice that Horatio recognizes from his past and his dreams (and his nightmares).

     Horatio tenses, but still he does not turn; partly because he knows that surely the vision will be gone as soon as he tries to look directly; partly because it _is_ very cold, and moving takes such energy. Instead he fixes his eyes on the horizon and asks, voice barely trembling, "Are you a ghost?"

     The figure chuckles, a beloved sound from the past that stirs something in Horatio's soul, and the painfully familiar voice says wryly, "You know, I'm not quite sure myself. Am I a lost spirit wandering the earth, or simply a part of your own imagination? Difference is the odds I suppose, seeing as I'm here all the same."

     Horatio sighs out a puff of frosty breath, and there is immense tiredness in it, but fondness too. He thinks, _Typical._ and he says, "But are you _real_?"

     In the corner of his eye, he sees the figure's mouth curve into a smile, before he says, with surprising gentleness, "My dearest Horatio, I am exactly as real as you would like me to be."

     Horatio turns.

     The Prince of Denmark stands before him, coat collar up against the chill, looking out across the sea, wry smile on his face. After a long moment, in which Horatio's pulse pounds staccato in his ears, the apparition turns his head to meet Horatio's eyes. Every detail of him is perfect to memory, from the slightest movement of his lips to the fall of his hair across his forehead.

     Cautiously, with a hand trembling from cold and trepidation and a thousand other things, Horatio reaches out for the wool-clothed shoulder of what can only possibly be a ghost before him, and is shocked to the core to find it solid and warm beneath his grip as it was in life.

     " _ **Hamlet**_..." he breathes, as the man turns to face him.

     "Sorry, were you expecting someone else?" says his Prince with a cheeky grin, the sort that became so rare in those sad last days so long ago.

     Horatio does not answer the tease. Instead he uses his hand on Hamlet's coat to pull them together in an embrace and bury his face in his shoulder, the book falling quietly to the snow between their feet. With his arms clutching tightly around Hamlet's thin frame, Horatio thinks faintly that he certainly feels corporeal; however when he opens his eyes, he sees only his own footprints disturbing the snow on the hill. It is of no matter. For once, Horatio sets his skeptic thoughts aside - this time he simply closes his eyes as the tears begin to flow, and holds on tighter.

     Between sobs of raw emotion wracking his body, he gasps out, "I-It's been s-such a long time... i-it was so hard, waiting... I-I told your story, just like you asked, it's here and I-"

     Slender hands card gently through his hair, soothing, silencing, and in his ear that beloved voice whispers, "Shhh, it's alright, I know, I know, and you've done marvellously. Your work is finished now. It's over."

     Horatio feels hot tears of relief, of joy running over his cheeks; in fact, he has started to feel warmer all over. He leans back slightly from the embrace, meeting Hamlet's eyes (bright, lively eyes) to ask, "Can I go with you, now? Can I follow you, finally?"

     Hamlet steps back and extends a hand between them, a silent offer and a wordless answer all in one. Horatio does not feel the cold at all, he feels himself smiling harder than he has in years, and he feels Hamlet's fingers laced with his own, and he feels as though he never wants to let go.

~

     Hand in hand, the two men turn and walk across the snow towards the sea. They cast no shadows before them, and leave no footprints behind. When they cross the threshold of the cliff, they do not fall, but walk onwards over the sea and up into the stars. Behind them, the book telling Hamlet's story lies on the glittering snow, and empty eyes full with frozen tears gaze towards the heavens, and Horatio is smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based in a headcanon Robin and I put together a few months back, so it may seem to be lacking context, but all you really need to know to make sense of it is that Hamlet wrote a play at some point, and that this is Horatio in the aftermath of the play, having written a book as a way of meeting Hamlet's final request that his story be told.
> 
> I learned a lot about html while formatting this, y'all better be appreciative of how nice it looks
> 
> Edit: This fic is almost a year old, but it remains one of my favourite things I've ever written and published. Made a few tiny tweaks to it today, such as giving Horatio a sweater because I honestly couldn't convince myself he would have made it to the cliff without at least something to keep him a little warm; also made a few edits of wording that bothered me. Many thanks to those of you who have shown this fic your love :)


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